Early morning.

Because it had snowed, the light outside the window was unusually bright.

When Zhu Wenshu opened her eyes, she thought the sun must already be high in the sky, but a glance at the clock showed it wasn’t even nine yet.

She didn’t know what time she’d fallen asleep last night; she only knew that right now, her mind was still a complete fog, nowhere near clear enough to get out of bed. So Zhu Wenshu turned off her alarm and drifted back to sleep.

When she woke again, it was to the sound of a ringing phone.

She fumbled around near her pillow for a while before finding it, blinking blearily at the caller ID.

“Hello…” Her voice came out long and drawn out, laced with a bit of a whine. “What is it, so early in the morning?”

“Early morning? It’s almost eleven, Zhu Wenshu, you’re still not even awake!”

Zhong Ya’s volume made Zhu Wenshu’s head buzz. “Since when did you start—”

Suddenly, as if she’d thought of something, Zhong Ya lowered her voice. “Wait… did I interrupt something for you two?”

Zhu Wenshu paused for a second before realizing what she meant.

“What are you thinking? We’re not together like that.”

“Huh? Didn’t you ask me yesterday—”

“No, I mean, we ARE together.”

Zhu Wenshu, halfway through the sentence, gave up on being coy. “But we didn’t stay together! We each went home to our own place!”

“Oh, tsk tsk, really? I don’t believe it. We’re all adults here, how could you possibly not—”

The call suddenly cut off.

Zhu Wenshu waited a few seconds, hearing nothing, and then glanced at her phone to see the call had ended.

【Zhong Ya】: Hold on, my boss is calling.

Zhu Wenshu set the phone down, staring blankly up at the ceiling, which had started spinning again.

Thinking back on what she’d just said to Zhong Ya, Zhu Wenshu almost had the illusion that she must still be half-asleep.

Her eyelids started to droop again, and just as she was about to doze off, the phone rang once more.

She grabbed the phone again, glanced at the screen, and picked up.

“We didn’t sleep together!! I slept alone!”

“…”

A familiar male voice came through the phone. “You… didn’t sleep with whom?”

Zhu Wenshu’s mind was still fuzzy, thinking that if she mentioned some other guy right now, she’d probably be single again within the next second.

“You… right?”

“You didn’t sleep with me…” he said, “Are you upset about that?”

Zhu Wenshu blinked, and as her consciousness returned, she suddenly sat bolt upright.

“No, I’m not upset. I’m actually really happy right now.”

Ling Chen: “You’re happy that we didn’t sleep together?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…Shouldn’t I be? Do you know how expensive you are?”

“…Given our current relationship.”

Ling Chen made a “tch” sound. “I could probably give you the couples’ discount.”

Zhu Wenshu took a deep breath, not sure why the conversation had taken this turn.

But her mouth didn’t seem to be listening to her brain anymore.

“How much is the couples’ discount?”

“Let me calculate.”

Ling Chen’s voice paused for a moment, then said, seemingly out of nowhere, “I’m hungry, treat me to a meal.”

“Hm?” Zhu Wenshu couldn’t quite keep up with his leaps in logic. “One meal and that’s it?”

“Well, I’ve never taken on this line of work before, I’m a bit rusty.”

Ling Chen sighed. “Also, at a moment like this, to keep the mood going, you’re supposed to say, ‘What should we go eat?'”

“Oh…” Zhu Wenshu repeated his words verbatim. “So what should we go eat?”

On the other end of the line, Ling Chen laughed.

“Even a girl who fell for her high school crush at Teacher Zhu’s age needs me to teach her this stuff.”

Zhu Wenshu: “…It wasn’t puppy love, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sure, Teacher Zhu, whatever you say.”

Ling Chen agreed verbally but had no intention of dropping the topic. “So what kind of love is it, then?”

Now he wants to acknowledge it’s love.

Why hadn’t he mentioned love when he was talking about money earlier?

Ling Chen waited a long while for a response, and after saying “Hm?” Zhu Wenshu, unable to come up with anything suitable, blurted out, “A May-December romance?”

Ling Chen seemed to choke for a second before saying, “That’s a bit much.”

Just as Zhu Wenshu was thinking about how to respond, Ling Chen added, “But if you don’t get out of bed soon, it really will be evening by the time we meet.”

“Oh, okay.”

Zhu Wenshu hurriedly threw off the covers and got out of bed. “Aren’t you busy today?”

“Busy, extremely busy.”

Ling Chen said, “But if even the Premier can manage to write love letters despite running the whole country, can I really claim to be busier than him?”

Zhu Wenshu pressed her lips together and laughed, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she reached for her toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Where should we meet?”

“I’m already at the entrance of your apartment complex.”

“Ugh…ack!”

Ling Chen: “Did you… throw up?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…I swallowed my toothpaste.”—

Actually, Ling Chen hadn’t originally planned to head out this early.

His phone had been buzzing all night; he’d turned on Do Not Disturb before going to sleep, and by the time he woke up, messages and missed calls had piled up sky-high.

The only one missing was from Zhu Wenshu.

So he’d sent her a message, and over an hour had passed without a response.

He glanced at the time—it wasn’t even eight yet.

But he found he simply couldn’t sleep anymore, so he got up and dug through his closet for something to wear.

Just as he finished getting dressed and was about to head out, he ran into Ling Xingyan coming out of the study.

Ling Xingyan clearly hadn’t slept all night, his eyes bloodshot, even his voice hoarse.

“You’re heading out?”

Ling Chen made a “Mm” sound.

Ling Xingyan: “To do what?”

Ling Chen looked at him with an expression that clearly said “why are you even asking,” yet answered patiently, word by word.

“Going. On. A. Date.”

Ling Xingyan: “…”

Ling Xingyan genuinely couldn’t understand how Ling Chen could stay so composed about all this.

He’d spent the entire night nonstop on calls, cycling through three different phones to keep them all charging, and the outside world felt like it had descended into total chaos—yet the very person who’d caused all this, Ling Chen, calmly announced he was heading out to go on a date.

Who the hell goes out on a date at eight-thirty in the morning!

Ling Xingyan felt like he was about to explode, but unlike Ling Chen, he couldn’t just turn off his phone and toss it aside, ignoring the outside world’s rumors.

He was being paid this much money precisely because he had to shoulder this much pressure.

Except—

Ling Xingyan practically forced the words out. “Could you maybe consider my feelings for once?”

“Sorry, forgot you’ve been single for years.”

Ling Chen patted his shoulder. “I’ll keep it in mind next time.”

Ling Xingyan: “…Get lost!”

Ling Chen headed toward the door, only to be called back.

“You’re really going out like that?” Ling Xingyan said, his face darkening. “You’ve got your damn sleep pants on!”

After changing his clothes and heading downstairs, the driver’s car was already waiting.

Seeing that it was Ling Chen getting in, and alone at that, the driver looked a bit puzzled. “Where to?”

Just as Ling Chen was still figuring out how to phrase his answer, the driver, struck by a thought, asked hesitantly, “Guanghua Road?”

The man in the back seat raised an eyebrow, leaning his head slowly to one side, resting it against his hand as if genuinely surprised.

“How did you know I was going to see my girlfriend?”

“…”

“Who told you?”

“…”

“Old Zhou, you’re not exactly young yourself, do you have a girlfriend?”

“…”

The driver, normally a man of few words, regretted more than anything that he’d decided to say that one extra sentence today.

“Thanks for the concern, I’ve actually been married for three years now.”—

Zhu Wenshu had originally planned to just brush her teeth, wash her face, and head out the door, but right as she reached the entrance, she thought better of it. After all, they were officially boyfriend and girlfriend now, she should at least pay some attention to her appearance.

So Zhu Wenshu turned back and changed clothes, digging through her entire closet without finding anything suitable.

The more anxious she got about Ling Chen waiting downstairs, the harder it became to find something. Twenty minutes ticked by, and finally she gritted her teeth, deciding it was more important to just go meet him. She threw on a sweater and coat and rushed out the door.

That familiar business car was indeed parked by the roadside.

Zhu Wenshu stopped her sprinting pace about ten meters away, smoothed her hair, steadied her breathing, and walked over with as much composure as she could muster.

“Have you been waiting long?”

She asked once she got in the car.

“Not long.”

Ling Chen replied. “I’d just arrived when I called you.”

The driver whipped his head around, staring at Ling Chen in disbelief.

Ling Chen looked up. “What’s wrong?”

The driver: “…Nothing.”

He just thought the two of them clearly had very different concepts of time.

On the way to the restaurant, the driver couldn’t help but glance repeatedly at the man in the back seat through the rearview mirror.

Wasn’t he supposedly so talkative just now?

Why wasn’t he saying a single word now?

Zhu Wenshu also felt a bit awkward.

She’d thought about a lot on her way out—their first official meeting as boyfriend and girlfriend, what should she say?

Never mind, she’d let him take the lead—after all, he’d been so good at coaching her on the phone.

But now that they were actually here, Ling Chen seemed just about the same as usual.

Even when they got to the private room at the restaurant, the two of them still sat facing each other, just as before, with a good distance between them.

Ugh, this wouldn’t do, Zhu Wenshu felt she really needed to find something to talk about.

So, after ordering, Zhu Wenshu thought for a long while before finally asking, “Which two-year college did you say you went to?”

Ling Chen lowered his eyes. “Much worse than yours.”

Zhu Wenshu remembered Ling Chen had once asked whether she looked down on him for his education, so she wanted to clarify that wasn’t what she meant.

But then she heard him say, “But it’s too late for you to back out now.”

“…”

Zhu Wenshu said, “As a teacher, I am a model of integrity and consistency—not even eight horses could drag me back.”

“Then I don’t need to worry about being dumped.”

Ling Chen looked up and smiled. “Licheng Business College.”

Oh.

Actually, that wasn’t bad at all.

Zhu Wenshu asked again, “What major?”

Ling Chen: “Tourism management.”

Nothing to do with music whatsoever.

“So how did you end up singing?”

“I was doing a residency at a bar near campus. Someone filmed it and posted it online, and then a music company reached out to me.”

“Oh… so did you get your diploma?”

Hearing this, Ling Chen rubbed his chin.

“Are you interviewing me for a potential arranged marriage?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…It’s not quite an arranged marriage.”

Her heart felt like little birds were fluttering inside, and she found herself unable to control what came out of her mouth. “More like an arranged… love match.”

After saying it, she saw Ling Chen freeze, and she pursed her lips.

Had that just made things awkward?

“Cut me some slack—a language teacher just has a bigger vocabulary.”

Ling Chen brushed a finger across his lips, pressing at the corner of his mouth.

“Mm, understood. So, shall we continue falling…”

Zhu Wenshu looked up at him.

Ling Chen: “…continuing the interview.”

Zhu Wenshu turned her face away and laughed, and when she looked back, she found he’d somehow moved to sit right beside her.

Their legs were touching; even through the fabric of their clothes, she could feel the firmness of the muscle in his leg.

Zhu Wenshu suddenly felt a bit warm, yet found she didn’t want to pull away either.

“Let me think about it.”

She glanced up at him one moment, looked away the next, and the two of them kept exchanging glances in the quiet space.

Eventually Zhu Wenshu couldn’t take it anymore, lowering her lashes bashfully, though her gaze remained reluctant to leave him.

Her eyes traveled slowly down from his face to his neck… his chest… his waist…

And then she saw the calluses on his fingertips.

Traces left by years of practice.

“Did you start learning music in high school?”

Ling Chen lowered his head and laughed softly.

“Where would I have gotten the money for that in high school?”

The reason Zhu Wenshu was asking was because she remembered Zhang Yuming mentioning that “Classmate Little Silkworm” was a song Ling Chen had written when he was just a teenager.

Thinking of this, she felt a small jolt of surprise. “Then how did you discover you could write songs?”

It had only been an ordinary question, but Ling Chen turned his face away, rubbing his earlobe.

How could he explain something like this?

The summer after graduating middle school, he’d worked part-time at a neighborhood bookstore.

During that time, he’d been trapped in a state of intense inner conflict—his father’s illness was getting worse and worse, and every morning his father would go squat outside the local clinic.

He’d squat there for the entire day.

Sometimes he’d come home in the evening; sometimes he wouldn’t show up until the middle of the night.

Especially once winter arrived and the days grew dark early, Ling Chen would often get home from school without his father having returned yet.

It would be worrying enough for a family to have any ordinary adult behaving this way, let alone someone whose mental state was similar to that of a child’s.

Accidents had happened many times before.

Sometimes it was people playing cruel pranks on him; sometimes it was people with malicious intent scamming him out of money. The most dangerous incident was when his father fell into a small river on the way home several times—thankfully, kind-hearted people living near the river had pulled him out each time.

Ling Chen didn’t know whether his father had fallen in by accident, or whether some part of him truly wanted to die.

Every single time he rushed to the scene, his lips would go pale with fear afterward.

He had already lost his mother; he couldn’t bear to lose his other parent too, or be abandoned again.

And besides, their family’s financial situation genuinely couldn’t support the two of them anymore.

Once he entered high school, he’d have even less time to keep an eye on his father.

During that period, at fifteen years old, he spent countless nights tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

If he dropped out to work, he could help support the family while also staying close to watch over his father.

Later, this thought began intruding even during the daytime, not just at night.

Even the neighbors urged him this way.

“Little Chen, why bother with school? You don’t have the money for college anyway, better to focus on taking care of your dad.”

But the more people said this, the more he struggled internally.

He wanted to study, wanted to go to college.

Wanted to try, at least, to reach toward a future that felt distant but still held some hope.

Every single moment, it felt as though two tiny figures were locked in fierce combat inside his head, weighing him down until he couldn’t take a single step forward.

He couldn’t make a decision, couldn’t take that step.

Clearly it was this constant back-and-forth indecision that tormented him the most, yet he’d rather endure the torment than choose.

He admitted he was a coward, unable to cut through the tangle decisively and choose a clear goal to pursue.

As the day school was set to begin drew closer, every time he walked past the town’s No. 1 High School, he’d deliberately quicken his pace.

He was afraid that if he looked even once more, he’d find it even harder to make up his mind.

He even hoped someone would tell him that No. 1 High School required exorbitant tuition fees, so he could be forced to give up.

Only a week remained before new student registration.

As usual, he went to work at the bookstore. After tidying up the new books on the display shelf, he picked up a high school study guide, flipped through it briefly, then tossed it back down and instead grabbed a random novel, curling up in a corner to read it.

The bookstore rarely had customers in the early morning; even the shop owner was dozing off at the register.

He read the novel quietly, but only a few pages in, he’d already lost all interest.

He frowned and flipped back to check the title—Letter from an Unknown Woman.

It seemed to be fairly famous.

Figuring a classic couldn’t possibly be bad, he forced himself to read a few more pages.

But he simply couldn’t relate to this near-religious kind of unrequited devotion; it felt to him like the author was just indulging in self-satisfaction, line after line.

By the tenth page, he finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Just as he was about to close the book, the sound of the door’s wind chime rang out.

He instinctively looked up, and in the bright morning light, saw a girl with a high ponytail and a backpack walking in.

She lifted her chin, scanning the store, and headed straight for the study guide section.

The narrow doorway seemed to vanish entirely; wide swaths of sunlight poured in.

The scene before him seemed to slow down, frame by frame.

His gaze was pulled along, following her movements, as if he’d lost all sense of himself, his head turning to track her path, while some kind of sound began stirring in his ears.

That sound grew louder and louder, crashing down over his ears, his face, his whole body—even the entire bookstore—sweeping over the whole world.

He felt as though he were sitting on the floor, yet at the same time, as if he were drowning in the sea, his nose and throat filling with water, unable to breathe.

As she passed in front of him, he clutched the book tightly in his hands, as if grasping a floating piece of driftwood in the ocean, hastily pulling his gaze away and lowering his head, as if trying to bury his face in the book.

The shop owner, propping his chin up with one hand, yawned and said, “Shu-shu, here to buy books again? Starting high school soon, right?”

“Mm.” The girl nodded.

The owner asked again, “Which high school are you going to?”

“No. 1.”

“No. 1’s good—it’s close to your grandmother’s place. Which class?”

“Don’t know yet, they’ll tell us once school starts.”

The girl’s figure disappeared behind the bookshelves, leaving a faint, delicate fragrance lingering in the air.

He lifted his head from the book, his gaze drifting and swaying, finally landing on the still-open page.

“My heart is strung as tight as a violin’s, and the moment you appear, it begins to hum unceasingly.”—

“You’d rather not say?”

Seeing Ling Chen’s reluctant expression, Zhu Wenshu said, “It’s fine, I was just asking randomly—”

The man beside her suddenly leaned in closer.

His cheek pressed gently against hers, brushing softly.

His hair brushed against the skin between them, sending a tingling, prickling sensation spreading through her entire body.

Zhu Wenshu shivered, freezing on the spot instantly.

And Ling Chen’s hand slid up to her neck, his warm palm pressing gently inward, while at the same time he buried his face against the other side of her neck.

“Can you hear it?”

His voice came out muffled.

Zhu Wenshu’s lips felt stiff. “What?” she murmured.

“You probably can’t understand this.”

Amid the closeness of their faces, Zhu Wenshu could barely make out Ling Chen’s voice anymore, her mind filled with other kinds of sound.

“The moment I see you, a beautiful melody starts playing in my ears.”